Armed with bright pink flyers, I gathered my courage and marched into T.T. Minor Elementary School, hoping to convince fifty tiny six-year-olds that soccer could be as much fun as fifteen precious minutes on the playground.

Having played and loved soccer my whole life, I wanted to give back to the soccer community. I’d had experience coaching at camps, and had loved it. I began to make plans for a team. I thought about my own soccer career and it seemed to me that I rarely played with, or against, girls of color. I was determined to put together a team from the historically African-American neighborhood that surrounds my school.

One hundred flyers, four class presentations, countless phone calls, and multiple house visits later, I had seven players. I requested scholarships for each girl from the Youth Soccer Association, and raised money to buy shin guards, shorts, and socks. I located used balls and cleats, and arranged rides for several of the girls to our practices and games.

After several weeks of practice, it was the day of our first game. I was nervous because the girls were still unsure about whether to use their hands or their feet in their big debut as soccer players. At the same time, I had confidence in the girls’ vivacious, fearless spirits, the ones I’d fallen in love with after only two practices.

The final goal count was 22-3. We lost.

To begin, I chose three girls to start, and was immediately faced with the first crisis. Tajzhanee refused to play. I turned to Voriona; she refused to play. Paige refused to play. That left me with Abigail, Grace, and Gabrielle on to start. I held my breath; the whistle blew; I soon saw all three of my girls standing in an unmoving clump. I started yelling encouragements, mixed with instructions, “Spread out! Pass!” Within the first minute, the other team scored; chaos ensued. Gabrielle ran off the field crying, and Grace sulked over to her mom, abandoning Abigail alone on the field. Quickly trying to remedy the situation, I gently guided Paige and Voriona onto the field, while a clinging Gabriel sobbed into my shirt. When I explained that part of soccer is getting scored on, they calmed down, and I did another rotation of substitutions. Tajzhanee still refused to play.

Grace, full of a renewed spirit to win, ran back in, but was immediately crushed as the other team scored another goal—their sixth. This time Grace ran off the field at top speed crying. When I finally caught up to Grace, I found her hiding in a bush far from the field, crying, “I didn’t score a goal!”

The game dragged on until the final whistle blew; with great relief I unclenched my jaw. The girls seemed unaffected by the heartbreaking loss as soon as they saw the snack I had brought. Nonetheless, I vowed to turn the team around, and I approached our next game with a renewed enthusiasm. At practice, I introduced new themes such as “the three giant step rule”: you must stay at least three giant steps from your teammates, and “red light”: using your foot to stop the ball dead and executing a reverse in direction.

The following Saturday I nervously crossed my fingers, but soon realized it was unnecessary—my team was doing well! Grace instructed her teammates, “THREE GIANT STEPS!” Kionna, on a quick break away, slammed her foot on the ball, smiled over at me, and yelled “RED LIGHT!” as loudly as she could. Every girl on the field came to a halting stop. Kionna quickly turned the ball and ran in the opposite direction. Tajzhanee, who refused to play the first game, refused to get OFF the field this time. Every time she was out, she turned to me and said, “When can I go back in?” Every girl wanted to play, and some simply wouldn’t get off the field when it was their turn to substitute. All of the hard work seemed worth it when a beaming Tajzhanee looked up at me and said, “I love soccer now!”

I never thought that a small group of grinning six-year olds could teach me something so profound. These girls do not have the same opportunities that other girls have. All but one come from single-parent households. Yet each has more courage and audacity than any other soccer player I have ever played with. They might not have attended expensive soccer camps, but they try their best and are so willing to learn. They have taught me so much about never giving up. I will carry these lessons into everything I do. Seven six-year-olds humbled me, and I am eternally grateful for their spirit and untarnished courage.

 This essay was written by Marjorie Chelius, Garfield High School Class of 2007, Dartmouth College Class of 2011.